Chapter 38 Aisling
AISLING
I see him before I understand what I’m seeing. And when the light hits Raf’s face, I’m certain I must be seeing a ghost.
Because I left him there—we all left him, bound and defenseless—as we fled outside.
And yet, I can see his fierce visage as he bursts from the house like the devil himself is on his heels.
He breaks through the chaos outside like something torn out of a nightmare, his shirt dark and slick, his hands red to his wrists, and for a split, irrational second, my brain decides it’s his blood.
That I couldn’t give the signal in time. That we failed and at any moment, his head will part from his body.
The sound that tears out of me isn’t a word. It’s raw and animalistic, scraped straight from my chest. I clutch Riley tighter and start running.
My father shouts my name as I leave his side, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
My legs barely feel like they’re touching the ground, the world narrowing to the man in front of me and the terror pounding behind my eyes.
Every horrible image I forced myself not to imagine inside that house comes rushing back all at once.
Raf on his knees.
A blade at his throat.
His eyes finding mine one last time.
When I slam into him, the force of it knocks the breath from both of us.
Riley squeaks, trapped between us, startled, then Raf’s arms are around us, solid and warm and very much alive.
His hands cradle Riley first, checking her instinctively, his palm gentle against the back of her head.
“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse but steady. “Hey. You’re okay. You’re both okay.” He sounds like he’s reassuring himself just as much as he is us.
I’m crying too hard to answer. My face presses into his chest, into the hard muscle beneath the blood and sweat and smoke.
I don’t care that he’s filthy.
I don’t care that he’s dangerous and violent and everything I once ran from. He’s alive. That’s all that matters.
Riley peeks up at him, her little hands fisting in his shirt. “You’re all wet.”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. I know. Sorry, Princess.”
I pull back enough to see his face, to make sure it’s really him. His cheek is smeared with blood, a shallow cut along his jaw, another at his hairline. But his eyes are clear, focused as he drinks us in.
Lifting my shaking hands, I start touching him everywhere at once—his shoulders, his chest, his arms—checking like I don’t trust my eyes.
He lets me, standing still while I catalogue every inch of him, searching for where he’s hurt.
“Is it yours?” I whisper.
“No,” he says immediately. “Mostly not.”
Mostly.
My stomach twists, but he catches my wrists gently.
“I’m fine,” he insists. “I promise. Tatsuo’s dead.”
The words hit me like a wave. The war is done. The Yakuza are gone.
Relief crashes through me so hard, my knees buckle, and Raf tightens his grip, anchoring me against him.
I sag into his arms, a sob breaking loose that feels like it’s been waiting days to escape.
My father steps closer, one hand steadying my elbow. “You did good,” he murmurs. “Both of you.”
Raf nods to him, a look of respect passing between them that makes my chest ache in a new way.
For a few quiet seconds, we just stand there, wrapped together in the aftermath. Men shout orders. Someone laughs, wild and carefree.
“It’s over,” I breathe, gratitude and disbelief painting my tone.
Raf’s arms tense around me, then his body shifts. The warmth in his embrace cools—not physically but emotionally, like a door closes somewhere deep inside him.
“You’re right,” he says quietly, his voice flat, emotionless, and it carves a deep gash in my heart.
I pull back, confused.
“The Yakuza are finished,” he says. His jaw tightens. “Which means there’s no reason to keep pretending.”
The word slices through me, and my heart stutters. “Raf—”
“You’re free,” he continues, turning his eyes to look out at the grisly scene before us. “You can go back to your old life. That was always the deal.”
The world tilts. Is that all he sees this as? A contract fulfilled? A performance wrapped neatly with a bow? After everything we’ve been through?
“Is that what you want?” I ask, my voice barely holding together.
He lets out a sharp breath. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
But it matters to me.
“It mattered when you decided not to tell me I had a daughter,” he adds, the words quiet but devastating. “And it seems like your opinion of me hasn’t changed much since then.”
The accusation lands like a blow.
“That’s not true,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s not—”
“You were ready to let me go on believing she didn’t exist,” he cuts in. “For years.”
My throat burns. “I know.”
Riley squirms between us, sensing the shift. I pass her to my father, my hands trembling as I let go of her weight. He steps back with her, giving us space but not distance.
“I didn’t do it because I didn’t care,” I say, my voice breaking. “I did it because I was terrified.”
“Of me?” Raf asks flatly, fresh pain flashing in his eyes.
“Of loving you,” I whisper. The words spill out then, unstoppable.
“I was furious with you for leaving. For breaking my heart and walking away like I meant nothing. And when I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t know how to reconcile that pain with the idea of letting you back in.
I thought if I told you, you’d either hate me or leave again.
And I didn’t know which would hurt more. ”
He finally looks at me. His expression isn’t angry now. It’s grief-stricken.
“I wanted to tell you,” I continue, tears streaming freely.
“After seeing you with Riley, it was eating me alive. Every day I thought, ‘Today is the day.’ And then I’d imagine the look on your face when you realized what I’d taken from you, and I’d freeze.
The damage is already done. I know that.
If I could go back, I’d do it differently. But I can’t.”
He stays silent, and the quiet stretches painfully thin.
“I understand if you want to stick to the agreement,” I say softly.
“You moved on. You loved someone else. You lost her. I know what Genevieve meant to you, and I wouldn’t ask you to choose me after that.
Especially not after what I kept from you.
” The words hurt to say, but they’re honest. “For what it’s worth,” I add, my voice trembling, “this never felt fake to me. Not even in the beginning. The truth is, I think I never really got my heart back after giving it to you the first time.”
For a terrible, suspended moment, I’m sure he’s going to agree. That he’ll nod and say this was all a big mistake, that we should let it end here.
Instead, he laughs once, breathless and broken. “You think I moved on?” he says quietly.
I blink.
“This” —he gestures between us— “has been torture. Being near you. Touching you. Knowing you weren’t mine to keep.”
My heart lurches.
“I loved Genevieve,” he says, and his voice softens. “I always will. She was the first thing I ever chose for myself. And losing her nearly destroyed me.”
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him again.
“But what she taught me,” he continues, “is that the things you love are worth fighting for. And I didn’t do that with you. I was too young. Too blind. I walked away from you when I should have held on.”
My breath catches.
“I gave my heart to you back then,” he says.
“I just didn’t realize it until it was too late.
And I’ve been screwing things up ever since.
” His hand comes up, hesitant, brushing my cheek with his thumb.
“If you’re willing,” he says, voice rough, “I want another chance—to be better. I want to be a worthy father. A good husband. I want to be the man you deserve.”
Joy detonates inside me, bright and overwhelming.
“Yes,” I sob, a laugh breaking through my tears. “God, yes. I want that too.”
Relief floods his face, something like disbelief flickering there too. He pulls me into his arms, crushing me against his chest, and for the first time since this madness began, I let myself believe we might actually be okay.
I pull back just enough to look up at him.
“There’s something else,” I say, my heart racing.
He stiffens slightly. “What?”
I take a breath. “You’re going to be a father again.”
For a heartbeat, he just stares at me. Then understanding dawns.
“Again…” he repeats, wonder threading through the word.
I nod, tears spilling over again. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even realize until just recently. But… yes.”
He makes a sound I’ve never heard before, something between a laugh and a sob, and then he’s kissing me—deep and fierce and reverent all at once, like he’s trying to pour every emotion he’s feeling into that one connection.
Riley clears her throat loudly from behind us. “Hey,” she says. “I want a kiss too.”
Raf laughs, pulling back, and then he scoops her into his arms so we can both press kisses to her cheeks at the same time. She giggles, delighted, and something settles into place inside me so gently, it almost hurts.
This is it. This is our family. My whole world.
Relief and joy overwhelm me to know that everything turned out in the end.
Despite all the missteps and miscommunications, Raf managed to find our way through a minefield of Mafia pitfalls and find each other.
Against all odds, I fell in love with the husband I swore I never would.
And now that the Yakuza are finished, the remaining families who run Chicago might actually have lasting peace.
Our marriage will ensure no more conflicts between the Irish and the Italians, and with Miko as the Bratva Pakhan, it promises to be a new kind of peaceful collaboration between the different factions that this city has never seen before.
As the chaos fades and the sun hangs low in the sky, we take Riley home.
She’s asleep in her car seat before we even pull into the drive, exhausted from the trauma of the day.
Raf carefully extracts her from the car, scooping her into his arms, her tiny face nestled beneath his chin as he carries her inside.
I watch as he tucks her into bed with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
Then, together, we retreat to our room, closing the door softly behind us.
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and the emotion in his eyes steals my breath.
“You were spectacular today,” he murmurs, cradling the back of my neck as he pulls me close.
I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up inside me, and I bite my lip as the memory of slapping him flashes behind my eyes. “Even when I hit you?” I tease, my fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt to pull him close.
“Especially then,” he growls, leaning in to steal a soft kiss. “You’re so fierce and confident and strong. I knew you would do anything for our daughter. I could see that truth blazing in your eyes. And that’s the sexiest thing in the world, Aisling Chiaroscuro.”
The sound of his last name as my own sends a ripple down my spine, and I rise onto my toes to steal a kiss of my own. “I love you so much,” I breathe and deepen the kiss.
“I love you too,” he rasps when our lips finally part once more. “Truly, deeply, and without end.”
“Come take a shower with me?” I offer, knowing he needs one far more desperately than I do, and I’m eager to wash the day’s sins from my skin.
Raf hums, the sound low and enticing as he gently steers me back toward the bathroom, his fingers relieving me of clothes with adoring gentleness as he goes. Our lips never part for long as we soak up the warmth of the water together, lost in the feel of being in each other’s arms.
It’s slow and intimate and full of whispered confessions, of hands relearning and hearts finally unguarded.
As the water cascades down my back, he kneels before me to press a reverent kiss to my stomach, and it brings tears to my eyes.
An unspoken vow that he already loves the child I’m carrying inside me.
The one we made together without even trying.
It’s like the universe always knew we were meant for each other and it would do anything within its power to keep us together.
When we finish in the shower, Raf carries me to bed, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands grasping my thighs until we spill onto the sheets, a tangle of limbs and tongues. And when he presses inside me, it’s with the slow, worshipful adoration of a man who truly loves his wife.
It’s soft and intimate, and it makes my heart swell until I’m certain it will burst from my chest.
We rock slowly together, the movement unhurried, and yet it sends ripples of pleasure up and down my spine.
And when we come… we come together, Raf buried deep in my depths, my name on his lips and my soul in his palms.
We curl together in the quiet that follows, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
And as I finally return to my body, it’s with the knowledge that I’m exactly where I belong.
In his strong, safe, unwavering arms.